From Newsprint to Footprints: A River's Edge Cozy Mystery (River's Edge Cozy Mysteries Book 1) (18 page)

I sighed. "It's okay if he mows the lawn regularly?"

"Sure. Plus, if you end up in prison, he can substitute until you get out."

"Thanks. If you'd been in town this morning, you would’ve thought I was on my way." I gave a brief version of events.

Syl's anger surprised me. "You went alone? Anyone could have been back there."

"I'm pretty sure whoever parked it wasn't coming back to check on it."

He frowned, but adopted his usual tone of voice. "There's a killer out there. At least take someone with you next time you go running down leads."

"I've already promised that to several people, including Fred."

Syl looked puzzled.

"Sorry. He's the guy running the paper for a while." I grinned. "I'm surprised he hasn't been out here to interview you."

"Ah. He's left two messages. You like him?"

"He's a straight shooter. Doesn't sensationalize. Plus, you get to tell the story your way."

"How many times did you use that line when you were a reporter?"

"A bunch. Speaking of the paper, can I ask you something?"

"Don't think I know much about the paper, but sure."

"Fred asked me to look at a bunch of Hal's folders, to see if he needed to do anything with them. Article ideas and stuff."

"He paying you?"

"We're friends. Fred still has to do some work in Des Moines. He's swamped."

Syl nodded. "So laid back here, even more than Des Moines."

I smiled. "It is. Anyway, one of the less legible papers mentioned interviews he'd done with a local insurance agent. It seemed he was looking into some sort of bidding process, but I don't know if it was local or statewide. Anything out of the county would seem odd."

Syl gave me an inscrutable look and glanced away. "I know something about insurance business in Des Moines, but not a damn thing about South County."

"Right. And the only thing local I really know is that Hal ticked off some of the local agents with a story he wrote a few years ago."

"Consistent, wasn't he?"

"Absolutely. It probably doesn't relate to anything. I thought if I could find out if Hal had irritated more people than usual I'd pass that to the sheriff."

Syl shook his head. "I should have guessed. You should tell the sheriff and let him figure out who was mad at Hal."

"You sound like everyone else I know." I almost said "except Sandi," but I saw no point in drawing her into the discussion.

Syl touched the rim of my hat. "Could be a tougher knock on the noggin next time."

We had reached the house. Apparently, if Syl knew something more about the insurance industry in Des Moines, he had no plans to talk about it. "I was lucky. So, I'm still on light duty. Think I'll pack up. Probably come tomorrow to do some planting. Not sure about Stooper."

"I'll be in Des Moines again. Are you well enough to be out here alone?"

"Yes." I realized my reply had been abrupt. "I appreciate that you asked."

He grinned as he started up the back porch steps. "No, you don't."

I WATCHED THE TUESDAY EVENING news, thankful that the Quincy station didn't mention that I'd been in jail for a time this morning. They did mention a development in Hal's murder, citing that the car being found in a nearby wooded area.

Sheriff Gallagher or IDI must not have been in the mood to be quoted, because there was no interview. In fact, the reporter seemed to think someone in law enforcement had found the car. Interesting.

I drank some iced tea, but didn't feel like eating yet.

My phone was still in my purse, so I got it, sat in the recliner, and leaned back to call Sandi. She didn't answer until the third ring.

"Hey Mel. Busy day?" Her words were clipped, so she was either busy or with someone.

"Worked at Syl's. Did Ryan learn anything from his mother's cousin?"

"Only that Sheriff Gallagher wanted the car to be examined here rather than towed to Des Moines."

"Have they looked at it yet?"

"It's at McKinney's garage. They'll have to finish soon. The sheriff doesn't want it to sit on the lot, so it's taking up one of the bays where McKinney works on cars."

Mike McKinney probably wouldn't charge the county for holding the car briefly, but he wouldn't forgo income. That meant Gallagher or a couple of deputies would probably finish a once-over by tomorrow.

"We should hear something soon," Sandi continued. Fred asked for an exclusive. Gallagher said that was a big-city word, and he'd talk to Fred first."

"I'd love to be a fly on the wall for that one."

"Me, too. Seems Fred would have to tell us, since other people in town will know. And you be sure to call me if you plan anything else dumb."

I ignored the barb and said I would. As I hung up, I wished I could be as sure as Sandi was that Fred would tell all.

When I got into bed, I made a list for tomorrow:

1. See what Fred finds out re car.

2. Were there security cameras besides the two banks and Hy-Vee?

3. Call Ambrose. How could I forget to do that?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I DIDN'T START WEDNESDAY with number one on my list. Instead I called Ambrose about seven-thirty. He might not have heard anything yesterday, but he would today.

"You got lucky," Sharon said. "Ambrose is in the shower."

"Why is that lucky?"

"Because Fred just called here. He told me about yesterday. You should have called."

I did a mental sigh. "I'm not trying to hide anything. I was just glad to get back to working in Syl's yard and focused on that."

Sharon blew out a loud breath. "I won't tell your brother about Fred's call 'til Ambrose is at work. I don't have to say Fred called first."

"Thanks. I'm sorry if I sound snotty, but I'm whipped. Would you ask Ambrose to call me when he's dressed?"

"Yep. Behave yourself, or he'll hire someone to tail you. Bye now."

There'd been a touch of sarcasm in Sharon's tone, but she didn't sound really mad.

I was the angry one. What business did Fred have calling Ambrose? They saw each other around town if Ambrose was here, but they weren't in regular touch. A glance at the clock told me Fred wasn't at work yet. Just as well. I needed to keep all the pieces of mind to myself for now.

By the time Ambrose called back, I had practiced being contrite. I told him what happened as fast as I could.

"Damn it. Brownberg should have called me."

"Ambrose, he was representing me. Wouldn't that have been a breach of something? Lawyer-client privilege?"

He was silent for a few seconds. "Why don't you tell him he can talk to me about anything going on with you?"

I agreed, managing to keep reluctance out of my tone. I would tell Brownberg he could talk to Ambrose about anything, but that I wanted to give permission first.

I showered and was at Syl's property by eight-thirty. Brownberg wouldn't be in his office yet, and I could call later on my mobile. Fred I wanted to talk to in person.

My head was better, and I wanted to get some work done before it got too hot. I wished I had started earlier. It might get to eighty-five degrees today.

Syl's truck was gone, so I pulled to the end of the driveway. My wheelbarrow was in the barn, which kept me from having to load it into my pickup every day. I was almost at the barn door when I heard a whimper. I stopped mid-stride and listened.

Was it a child? No, sounded like a dog. I went to the door to look in. It was bright outside, so it took several seconds to adjust to the darker interior. The whimper came again.

A bedraggled, multi-colored dog sat under the wheelbarrow. I couldn't even think of a breed to call him. Maybe a mix of schnauzer, small Labrador, and terrier. He was dirty and looked as if he was too tired to move. His fur had a few burs, but wasn't matted. He hadn't been in the elements for too long.

I approached slowly and stooped next to the wheelbarrow. He moved just his head back, so I held out my hand and let him smell it. He did, and it brought one thump of his tail. It didn't look as if he would bite me, so I patted the ground in front of me.

Slowly, eyes on me the entire time, he crawled from under the wheelbarrow. He looked too tired to stand, and he didn't protest as I picked him up and slung him over my shoulder. At most, he weighed ten pounds.

I started toward my truck, where I had a cooler with water and a ham sandwich. It was lunch meat, not fresh ham, so I knew I couldn't give him much. He was filthy, so I took the sweatshirt that sat on the seat, spread it out, and plopped him on is.

His look said, "Is that all? Aren't you going to help me?"

I smiled and opened the cooler. He sat up and stared as I first took out a bottle of water. I didn't have a bowl, so I poured some in my hand. He lapped and slobbered a lot of it onto the sweatshirt. I kept pouring water into my hand until about half of the bottle was gone.

His eyes stayed fixed on my hands as I refastened the bottle top and pulled out the sandwich. He barked, just once, and moved to the edge of the seat.

"Okay, buddy. Let's start small." I took half of the sandwich out of the plastic bag and tore off a piece of the ham. He almost ate my finger with it.

"Okay…hey." He head-butted my hand, so I tore the rest of the ham into two pieces and fed him. He was about to stick his head into the small cooler when I put the lid back on it. He stared at me and thumped his tail.

"Too much sodium." I sighed. "Come on. You belong to somebody. We'll go to the vet."

So much for working before it got too hot.

JOSHUA MARSHALL WAS THE large animal vet my dad always used for our cows and horses. I figured he or someone in his office did house pets. His flat-roofed cinderblock building sat on the opposite edge of town from Syl's place, so it was more than a ten-minute drive. By the time we got there, the small dog was asleep on my lap.

He woke up and thumped his tail twice when I turned off the engine. Apparently we were friends.

I put him over my shoulder and held him in place with my right hand while I opened the truck door with my left. When he realized where we were, he gave a small whimper.

"You know this place? Have some shots here? That's good." It would mean Dr. Marshall or someone else might know the dog.

He squirmed a little as I opened the door and walked into the waiting area, but didn't try to get down.

The woman behind the counter stood and clapped her hands. "It's Mister Tibbs!"

She was about thirty-five and had on a light blue smock. The dog seemed to not only know her but like her, and I was about to hand her to him when I remembered how dirty he was.

"He was in a barn on the far west side of town. I'm glad you know him."

"Sweet boy." She held out her arms and I handed him to her across the counter.

Dr. Marshall came into the waiting area from a hallway that led to a lot of now barking dogs. "So, he showed up."

Mister Tibbs didn't look as eager to see Dr. Marshall, but he let the vet take him from the woman. I glanced at her name tag and saw she was Annette.

I leaned on the counter and watched Dr. Marshall run his hands over the dog. "Who does he belong to?"

"Past tense, I'm afraid. Did you know the Stevens? Not far outside of town. He died a few years back, and his wife passed a week ago." Dr. Marshall stroked the dog and handed him back to Annette. "I don't feel any obvious injuries. Let's get him cleaned up before we call Animal Control."

"Animal Control! Why? Don't they put them to sleep?"

Annette carried Mister Tibbs into the hall, and just before they vanished, the dog put his head on her shoulder and looked at me. I took it as a thank-you.

"He's a nice little guy. They'll likely find someone."

Dr. Marshall's tone wasn't unkind, but I knew this was a subject he dealt with a lot. He cared about animals, but he couldn't care too much.

"Where do you suppose he's been for a week?"

"He ran out when the ambulance guys opened the front door to get Mrs. Stevens. She'd called 9-1-1, but she was gone before they got to her. They said Mister Tibbs was frantic."

"Oh, that's sad." I felt my eyes start to burn. "Isn't there family who can take him?"

Dr. Marshall shook his head. "Afraid not. She has a son who lives in Colorado, but he's gone back. He said if Mister Tibbs turned up he'd pay an initial vet bill, but he couldn't take him. Travels a lot for his job." He smiled. "Mrs. Keyser let you have a pet?"

"I don't know. I'm not always there either. Maybe he could come to work with me."

Dr. Marshall nodded. "Saw you were doing some landscaping."

"Oh, yeah. And you saw who I found my first day doing it."

He shook his head. "Poor Hal. Such an unhappy person. Got a lot worse after his cat died."

"Hal had a cat? I don't believe it."

Dr. Marshall looked puzzled. "Never talked about old Sammie?"

The door dinged, and a man entered with a collie on a leash.

"He didn't. Hard to imagine him, um, taking the time."

"They were best buds." Dr. Marshall turned his attention to the new arrivals.

I walked out slowly. Hal, good to a cat? A cat probably no one at work knew he had? It didn't make me less mad at Hal for his insults and stapler-throwing, but I had begun to realize there was a side of the man he didn't often let others see.

Part of me wouldn't mind a dog, especially a small one. I thought of Mister Tibbs' mix of black, brown, and white fur and his tail thumps, and smiled.

I sat in my truck for several minutes, thinking. The collie's owner walked out, and I went back in.

Annette was at the front desk, now in a pink smock. She laughed. "Dr. Marshall said you'd be back."

"Sorry you had to change your smock."

"I do it ten times some days."

"I'm not sure Mrs. Keyser will let me keep him." Ultimately, she might be the one to make up my mind. I wouldn't move for a pet, not when my garden was growing so fast.

Annette winked. "I'll call her."

My eyes widened. "She'll listen to you?"

"I went to high school with her daughter. You know Clara?"

I thought Mrs. Keyser's daughter was in her early forties, meaning Annette must take really good care of herself. "Not really. I've met her a couple times when she visited. She's in Minnesota, right?"

Annette nodded. "And Clara had a little terrier for years. I bet she'll let you keep Mister Tibbs."

I leaned my head back and looked at the ceiling.
What was I getting myself into?
I looked back at Annette.

She spoke softly, "He'll be good company for you. Since your parents… Well, you're alone a lot, aren't you?"

Presumably her branch of the town grapevine meant she talked to Mrs. Keyser.

My eyes burned again. "I'll talk to her late this afternoon."

Annette smiled. "I'll keep my fingers crossed."